There was
nothing to say; some people are not happy unless they are killing
helpless, harmless creatures; and there was nothing to do.
The moth was useless for a study, while its broken antennae set it
crazy, and it shook and trembled continually, going out without
depositing any eggs. One thing I did get was complete identification,
and another, to attribute the experience to Mrs. Comstock in "A
Girl of the Limberlost"*, when I wished to make her do something
particularly disagreeable. In learning a moth I study its eggs,
caterpillars, and cocoons, so that fall Raymond and I began searching
for Polyphemus. I found our first cocoon hanging by a few threads
of silk, from a willow twig overhanging a stream in the limberlost.
<<*April 1994 [limbr10x.xxx] 125 A Girl of the Limberlost, by Gene
Stratton-Porter>>
A queer little cocoon it was. The body was tan colour, and thickly
covered with a white sprinkling like lime. A small thorn tree
close the cabin yielded Raymond two more; but these were darker in
colour, and each was spun inside three thorn leaves so firmly that
it appeared triangular in shape.
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